Idolatry
by Shurikenx
Summary: There are no Gods in this world. There are only men. And to Sasuke, there is only one. On his knees, before his brother, Sasuke considers the pivotal moments which spurred his perverse form of devotion, and how Itachi not only allowed it, but encouraged it. An examination of the sadomasochistic relationship between two brothers and its devastating consequences.
1. Chapter 1

Idolatry

Hi everyone! How long has it been? I hope you've all had a lovely Christmas and are looking forward to 2020. In the last two years I've actually been working in Japan and teaching English – so my writings have slowed somewhat as I've been so busy! Sucker Love is still a work in progress and I hope I can update it in the very near future. In Idolatry, I wanted to try and examine the sadomasochistic side of Sasuke and Itachi's relationship – a side to their canon stories which I believe could really work within the Narutoverse. There won't be too much of a plot as such, just an examination of incidents which I believe could have caused this relationship to develop in this interesting way. It goes without saying this will be a smut-heavy piece, and will contain depictions of self-harm and dubious consent.

"For some, taking on a role of compliance or helplessness offers a form of therapeutic escape; from the stresses of life, from responsibility, or from guilt. For others, being under the power of a strong, controlling presence may evoke the feelings of safety and protection associated with childhood. They likewise may derive satisfaction from earning the approval of that figure."

\- An examination of sadomasochism.

"But of all the demons I've known,  
None could compare to you.  
Drink me, eat me, then you'll see the light."

\- Ghost, "See The Light"

* * *

Sasuke often found himself wondering when it had all started.

When his twisted, dangerous idolatry of his brother had first planted its seed and began to grow.

He often thought back to moments in childhood, like the time when he had begged his brother to practice his shuriken training with him in the forests behind their house. His father had refused to teach him, stating firmly that he was far too young to be practicing with blades – this despite the fact that he had taught his older brother when he was the same age, if not younger. He remembered the morning sun, bathing the clearing in the woods with a soft glow; remembered listening to the bush warbler's lonely call from the other side of the river, perched within the trees there, hidden from sight.

They had practiced for what seemed like hours. The rumbling of the river and the nearby waterfall masking the heavy thwack as the knives hit into the dirt and clattered against stone. He remembered the shock when he had pulled the knife from a thick tree trunk - feeling so pleased with his first successful hit - using all of his force despite his brother's warning. His hand had slipped and sliced open with ease on the blade's edge, like a knife sliding through butter. He had pulled his hand away in shock, grasping his palm to his chest as he tightened his fist, feeling the warmth of blood seep through his clenched fingers like warm syrup. The initial surprise quickly gave way to pain, searing and fresh. Sasuke had lost his composure upon seeing the blood, recoiling in fear and sobbing, his breath hitching in his chest and making him dizzy. He recalled the distinct feeling of his pride shifting to melancholy, heeding his father's warning, remembering how inadequate he was to his brother's ability and talent.

He remembered his brother tending to the wound, first making him submerge his hand in the cold rushing water of the Naka river. The flowing water had rippled the loose edges of the wound, making Sasuke feel sick as he watched the blood trickle downstream for a second before he looked away, nauseous. He let his brother examine the injury closely, crying heavier when he suggested they go home and get their parents to take him to the hospital for stitches. He hated hospitals – hated the smell, the clinical white walls, the squeaky sound of his shoes upon the floor. More than anything, he didn't want his father to know. He pleaded with his brother, wiping his running nose on the back of his hand as he struggled to speak. There was one other option, his brother had said, as he pulled his first aid ANBU supplies from the pouch secured around his right thigh. Sasuke had watched through his tears as his brother pulled a needle and surgical thread from a carefully folded square of white cloth.

On the banks of the river, his brother had made him force open his clenched fist, exposing the red, fleshy wound lacerating his palm from the base of his little finger to the wrist. He had insisted that he spread his fingers apart, biting back against the pain. One stitch at a time, Itachi ran the needle through the boy's palm, closing the wound up with an ease that suggested he had performed the task many times before. Every time the thread tugged at his skin, Sasuke felt the urge to succumb to the pain and faint, remaining conscious only because of his brother's encouragement, talking him through each stitch. It had taken weeks for the wound to heal.

Looking back, Sasuke could see how easily it had all started.

How, as a child, whenever he had hurt himself, it had become routine for him to seek out his brother. Seeking out those reassuring strong hands – hands that were becoming calloused and tough from ANBU practice. Seeking out his brother's attention, knowing he would not receive it so easily from his parents who seemed to only have eyes for their eldest and brightest.

At times, unbeknownst to his brother, he would take a kunai from his father's desk when he was running errands in the city. He would carry the blade, taking it carefully to his room where he would sit on the edge of the bed and admire the carving of the Uchiha name on its handle, tracing each intricate kanji with his fingertip. Sometimes he would let the blade slice open on his hand or legs, only a little, just enough to draw a small bead of blood, never deep enough to require stitches. Just enough to mimic a scratch received from training practice; from a fall in the woods; from a stray cat. He would wait until his brother returned home, sometimes late at night from ANBU training or a mission call, before knocking on his bedroom door, sliding open the paper screen just enough to peer through. Usually his brother would be hunched over his desk, calligraphy brush still wet with ink as he finished signing off his mission reports. Sometimes he would be carefully unwinding his leg and arm wraps, carefully rolling the bloodied bandaged into neat little piles ready to be washed the next day.

He would spin his brother a tale of his recent injury, sometimes even believing them himself. And of course, his brother would oblige. No matter how weary or long his mission, no matter how tired or exhausted he felt. Sasuke would sit on his brother's bed and show his injuries in the gentle orange glow of his brother's desk light, wincing as he cleaned them thoroughly, never missing a single scratch.

Then, there had been the time a few years later. When admiration and a keening desire for his brother's hands began to traverse into more unsettling, dangerous territory.

He had gone to the nearest store in the Uchiha district to buy some groceries for his mother. Despite her insistence that he go with his brother, Sasuke had persisted, saying he was more than capable of going 15 minutes down the street by himself. His friends had gone further, he said. He left the house, recalling the list of things he needed to buy out loud. Milk, eggs, tomatoes, Chinese cabbage, and barley tea. He repeated the list like a mantra under his breath, until his words matched the rhythm of his confident stride.

As he paid for the items and began to leave the store, the shopkeeper asked with some concern if he had an umbrella. A quick glance outside, and sure enough, the sky was darkening rapidly with the swollen threat of rain. 'There's a storm on the way,' the old man had said. Sasuke assured him he would be fine; he was a fast runner after all. Carrying the paper bag tight against his chest with both arms, the carton of fragile eggs tucked away safely in the bottom, Sasuke ran through the rain as the skies began to open in earnest. What started as a few heavy droplets quickly swelled into a dire rainstorm. His chest heaved as he struggled with the weight of the groceries, forcing his aching legs to continue their pace as he headed home. The rain soaked into his shirt and shorts, his leg wraps becoming grey and dirty with the splashing water from the street. His open-toed sandals kicked up water as he ran, his feet cold and numb. In his premature confidence, he had forgotten that the route home would be mostly uphill.

As he rounded the corner nearest to home, he slipped. One foot skidded out from underneath him and his grip on the sodden paper bag shifted to compensate. He felt the bag tear in his grip as he struggled to keep himself upright, the groceries spilling out and onto the ground beneath him as he fell to his knees in the dirt. The glass bottles of barley tea seemed to fall in slow motion before shattering onto the wet ground. He sank to his knees, wincing as he landed on the remnants of the tea bottles as he hastily grabbed for the groceries he could save from the rain. Tomatoes squashed softly under his elbows, and the smell of herbs and brewed tea wafted up with the earthiness of the rain. Gathering what he could in his arms, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the large gates of his complex.

Bursting in through the entryway of his house, Sasuke had toed off his sandals with a sigh, dripping water onto the wooden floor in heavy droplets as he heaved his armful of saved groceries up onto the dresser in the hallway. His brother had appeared then, coming down the stairs, eyes buried in a book which he smoothly closed and tucked into the back pocket of his trousers.

'What happened to you?' He had asked, raising an eyebrow as he regarded the boy at the foot of the stairs, soaking wet and breathing heavily. Sasuke had been on the verge of tears, sulkily examining the bruised tomatoes and the squashed carton of milk, the four broken eggs in their cracked shells. There were still pieces of the torn paper bag stuck wetly to his t-shirt which he attempted to pick off with his trembling fingers.

All the while, he could feel his brother's eyes on him, regarding him with a mixture of exasperation and knowing disappointment. He flushed hot in embarrassment, feeling the heat rise up into his cheeks and settle at the nape of his neck, making the blood in his ears pound in time with his heartbeat. His knees stung, and he anxiously looked down to examine them.

Itachi followed the boy's movement, looking down at the scratched kneecaps that were dirtied with mud and darkened blood. Sasuke had protested when his brother asked to see if he was ok, examining his grazed knees and noticing the small shards of glass embedded there.

Reluctantly he had let Itachi lead him to the bathroom upstairs, wincing as his skin stretched and gave around the glass with every step. The house had been empty and quiet, the sound of their footsteps on the creaking floorboards the only noise. He had allowed Itachi to take off his clothes, tugging his shirt up and over his wet head and slipping his shorts down, clinging stubbornly to his wet legs, before sitting him down on the tub's edge, examining his reddened kneecaps with tweezers to pull out the small splinters not big enough to remove with his deft fingertips.

Oddly, he remembered a lot about that incident.

He remembered the way he had shivered against the cold metal tub, the way his flesh had crawled with goosebumps as he sat there in his damp boxers, soaked through from the rain.

Itachi hadn't offered him a towel, even though there was a fluffy stack of them perched just above the shower rail.

His thighs had trembled, as if an electric current had been coursing through his skin, enough to make his teeth click audibly against each other as he shuddered. He remembered one of Itachi's hands coming up to rest on his thigh as he knelt on the floor between his legs, pressing just enough to still the shivers as he removed a particularly deep piece of glass from the side of his kneecap. They fell to the floor with a soft clink. He remembered looking at the top of his brother's head with a strange mix of admiration and embarrassment, knowing that he was utterly hopeless compared to Itachi. Hell, he couldn't even go to the grocery store without hurting himself – couldn't even tend to his wounds without his brother's help.

Over time, something had begun to grow within Sasuke. He knew that much. Something connected pain and his brother's reassuring hands deep within his being. The embarrassment and anger at his own inadequacy became to fester and deepen, feelings that he desperately tried to justify under his brother's hands. He found himself longing for it – longing for a reason to run to his brother and succumb to his care and attention, no matter how his father would regard him with disappointment, no matter how much he would hate himself.

When he once tripped and split his upper lip open on the gravel path, by accident that time, he went only to his brother. Tasting hot blood in his mouth, Itachi had steered him into the kitchen, sitting him down on one of the kitchen chairs and urging him to spit into the sink as he prepared rubbing alcohol and salt water. Sasuke had followed the order, spitting blood into the drain and watching as it spiralled downwards in slow, heavy ripples. He tentatively reached up with a finger, feeling the cut splitting the top corner of his lip.

His brother had brought over the alcohol and a cotton pad, thoroughly soaking it before he coaxed Sasuke to recline his head back so that he leant back against the edge of the sink. His fingers gripped tightly into the chair's seat. 'It's going to hurt,' his brother had said unapologetically, not waiting for confirmation from the boy before pressing the pad to his lip and squeezing. The sudden rush of white hot pain caused Sasuke to groan in surprise, wincing and blinking back hot tears that swelled for a moment and then fell heavily down his temples. The tears ran into his ears and for a second the world was hushed, as if he had been plunged underwater. He breathed in through his open mouth, tasting the alcohol fumes and the dry cotton against his teeth. He felt sick and he gasped, feeling one of his brother's hands come up behind his head, holding the back of his neck firmly as he shushed him, all the while continuing to hold the searing alcohol firmly to his lip.

His mouth began to tingle and he dryly tried to swallow, struggling against the hot lump that had built in his throat. He was painfully aware of his brothers fingers against his mouth and around his head, encompassing him, almost dipping inside him. His tongue felt uncomfortable in his own mouth as he blinked back tears, hating himself for acknowledging the darkest thoughts that threatened to spill forth from his lips like his sobs, wanting more than anything for his brother to slip those thin fingers between his lips and force his mouth wide open for him. Just for him. He struggled to contain his sobs and tried to move away, catching his brother's gaze which seemed to track his every movement. He pushed away his brother's hands in time to retch hard into the sink.

Pain, and his brother.

They went together like two jagged puzzle pieces that shouldn't fit together but would if forced.

His mind often returned to the fateful night of his family's murder, bare feet slapping in the puddles, just like the day he had spilled his groceries in the street, running so fast that as he turned a corner his feet slid out from underneath him, causing him to fall hands first into the dirt. He remembered the pain in his palms and knees, grazed from the fall, stinging. He remembered the confusion when he attempted to push himself up to his feet, catching sight of his red palms and realising that, no, it wasn't rain he had slipped in. It hadn't rained in weeks.

The darkness of night had concealed the blood from view, but in the brief glimpse of moonlight that edged around the steel-grey clouds, he had noticed how the street shined black and wet. How the bodies lay unceremoniously atop one another. He had recoiled at the blood that stained his hands. Panicked, he'd wiped them across his shirt, crying now, tears falling heavy onto his cheeks and down his throat.

He had pushed his aching legs to carry him forward, stumbling in the dark, conscious now of how silent the streets were. The sound of his heartbeat thudded in his eardrums, making his vision dizzy as he struggled to breathe through his tears. He knew that there was no point in running, knew that eventually he would be found. In the labyrinthine streets of the Uchiha district, he knew that he was stuck like a rat in a maze.

'Can we please stop this running?'

The voice had come from infront of him as he rounded a corner, desperately blinking away his tears as he sobbed and came to a reluctant stop. He couldn't disobey his brother. Not now, not ever. Not even when fear stuck in his throat and made his muscles shake uncontrollably, fighting every urge in his body and mind that screamed at him to run.

'Please,' he found himself saying, mouth wet, breathing heavily. He tasted salt, his tears warm on his lips.

'Please don't kill me.'

His knees had buckled and he let out a shaking sob as he sank to the ground unable to help himself as he gave in to his exhaustion and fear. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide. More than anything he wanted to wake up, to rise up from his bed sheets and find himself back at home in a cold sweat, his parents soundly sleeping in the room next door.

His brother's figure was barely distinguishable from the shadows thrown down by the sparse moonlight. Sasuke watched as he adjusted a katana over his shoulder; the metal glinting in the light for a brief moment before it was sheathed. It didn't register that it was the weapon that had slaughtered the clan members behind him in the streets.

'I don't want to kill you,' he had said, walking towards his younger brother. He watched as the boy gave a slight, shuddering sigh in relief, the sound catching in his throat tightened by tears.

'Killing you like this would be too easy, and wholly unsatisfying.'

Sasuke let his head hang forward, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as hot embarrassment flushed in his burning cheeks. He could feel the disgust in his brother's words, biting and sharp-edged in their disdain, yet also painfully nonchalant.

'You're weak.'

The nonchalance hurt most of all.

He flinched, feeling the sharpness of the words almost physically cut into his ears. His brother continued to walk until he was infront of him, looking down at him from above. His silhouette blocked out the moonlight.

'But, you already know that.'

Sasuke had cried, part of him despising himself for so weakly sobbing into the dirt at his brother's feet, while another part of him relished in it. If he were to sob at anyone's feet, who better than his older brother? It was how things were meant to be. How things always had been. His brother was always ahead of him, always stronger, always more capable – and despite his family's disappointment, he felt more assuredly with every treacherous word that fell from his brother's lips that he was in his rightful place.

When the Tsukuyomi was engaged and Sasuke was ripped from reality to hang suspended in a world of red and black shadows, part of him breathed a shuddering breath of anticipation.

'You know I can do anything here,' Itachi had said, speaking not from infront of him now but from the spaces around him, between him, his voice thrumming along his nerves and raising the hairs on the back of neck. Encompassing every part of him.

The world swam in crimson shadows that stretched endlessly and then contorted, shifting reality to his brother's whim.

Itachi was in front of him then, eyes red and swirling lazily like the spokes of a windmill, gloved hands coming to rest on Sasuke's cheeks and then trailing down until his thumbs pressed gently into the skin of his throat, just below his jaw.

'I can make it hurt…'

Sasuke winced and tried to draw in a breath, feeling the thumbs press into his throat.

'Or not.'

Those thumbs released slightly and Sasuke felt his legs tremble as he drew in a breath, shakily trying to control his breathing as his heart began to race. Itachi's figure had shifted, rippling slightly as if he were a disturbed reflection.

'It's not real,' Sasuke had bit out, 'it's not real.' He had closed his eyes, desperately trying to cling on to some semblance of reality as he felt the world slipping from beneath his feet.

'It's as real as you want it to be.'

Itachi had said against his ear, pressing the boy's shuddering throat again, enough to feel his pulse flutter beneath his fingers. He had felt Sasuke's hands come up to tighten furtively against his own wrists as if in a panic, but the boy hadn't pushed him away.

Sasuke could never push him away.

Itachi felt the breath beneath his hands, the gentle vibration of a moan that thrummed against his fingers before tumbling helplessly from those small lips.

Shifting the genjutsu to a vision of his parents' slaughter, Itachi had slipped back into the rippling shadows, leaving his brother to relive the horror again and again while he gathered his thoughts, his fingertips still resonating with the itch of his brother's aroused voice. He settled into the darkness, to watch, to consider.

Itachi had learned many things over his early years. How to torture, how to divulge the darkest secrets from an enemy nation, how to kill efficiently and with ease. He'd also learnt a lot about his family. How his father pushed and pushed for greater efficiency within the clan, how the bloodline was to be kept pure to preserve hereditary secrets and techniques, how his brother desperately craved approval and so often found none.

Itachi was many things, but he was no fool.

When his brother came crying to him with his forearms gauged during training, when he grazed his knees, when he slipped and cut his lips. Itachi was always there. The constant. Not their father, not their mother, but him.

Over time, Itachi began keenly aware of what seemed to be growing deep within his little brother's damaged psyche. A need to be cared for. A need to be comforted – but all while enduring pain and suffering. Itachi noticed this most accurately when he had taken the alcohol-soaked cotton pad to his brother's bleeding lip, pressing the astringent to the open wound, only vaguely noticing how he pushed harder than necessary. He pushed hard, drawing forth those glistening tears from his brother's wide eyes, pulling forth that shuddering breath from his shaking chest, spilling from his wet open mouth.

Yes, Itachi had learned early on of his brother's depravity.

And yet, had he stopped it? Had he stepped in and curbed those wretched thoughts and desires when he had the chance?

Of course not.

Interested in the unique scenario presented before him, Itachi had allowed the sickness to spread. To grow deeper, to plant its roots and fully take hold of them both.

While Sasuke was forced to relive his parents' slaughter over and over again, screaming until his throat was raw and bleeding from the torment, Itachi pondered on his next move.

When Sasuke eventually awoke from the Tsukuyomi, nurses were quick to reassure him that his arms were restrained to the bedside for his own good – he had tried to claw out his eyes, they reminded him. Did he remember anything within the genjutsu? No, he couldn't remember a thing. Even his teacher encouraged him to try, to try hard – but Sasuke could only sob, unable to remember a single thing from his brother's torture. The nurses hushed him, stroking his hair, noticing the faint bruises around the boy's throat and jaw but saying nothing.

For weeks after, even when he had returned to his family home – much to the aghast of the medical team who strongly suggested he stayed with a friend from the academy – Sasuke had dreamt of that night. The last night he had seen his brother, standing above him, katana sheathed against his back and the moon hanging heavy and low in the sky.

For some reason, he would often stroke the sides of his neck, pressing his thumbs in just enough to restrict his breathing. His head would swim and his brother's words, 'you're weak', would tumble from his own lips.

His own fingers would find comfort, settling into the old bruises which faded stubbornly from his throat. Eyes closed, fingers tightening, Sasuke would wait for the next visit. Knowing it wouldn't be long.


	2. Chapter 2

The Second

_They say the devil's water it ain't so sweet,__  
__You don't have to drink right now - __  
__But you can dip your feet__  
__Every once in a little while._

_\- The Killers "When You Were Young."_

* * *

Years passed, and Sasuke grew. Taller, leaner, stronger. When pressed for the reason behind his dedication to his training, he would reply with the well rehearsed line 'to kill my brother.'

Hatred fuelled his training, but while many presumed it was the hatred felt towards his brother that was responsible for his growth, they were wrong.

As the years had passed, Sasuke's dangerous idolatry of his brother had only grown. Try as he might to hate his brother, Sasuke could only lie awake at night, dreaming of the times when his brother's hands had comforted him, had sparked that dangerous connection with pain and comfort deep within him. Hate his brother? He could never. Hate himself? That was all too easy.

Part of him relished in the sickness that seemed to be festering within him, knowing how his brother would turn away in disgust if he knew the truth. He often wondered where his brother was hiding – there were rumours he had joined an elite group of missing nin, but their base was unknown and information about its members was even more scarce. Nevertheless, Sasuke knew that at some point his brother would return to him. He doubted he could keep himself away.

Sasuke would often lie awake at night, choking himself to the brink of unconsciousness just so that he could imagine his brother there, above him, stroking him until he came painfully against the confines of his clothes and sweltering bedsheets.

How many times had he repeated those same actions, over and over, wishing not for his own hand but for that of his own flesh and blood?

At times, he wondered if Itachi had known - if he'd had a slight inkling when they were growing up. God knows Sasuke had never truly understood the depth of his depravity back then – but Itachi was older, had had more experiences of the world and the people within it. Had there been a chance that he had known the twisted nature behind his brother's self-inflicted cuts and grazes? If he did, he had never questioned him.

Sasuke thought back to the time he had lacerated his inner thigh, a little too deep that time, deep enough that time to require professional medical attention. Itachi had sewn him back together without any questions, whipping the needle and surgical thread through the wound with ease and precision – but it was the tight grip Itachi had on his hipbone, holding him still, that Sasuke remembered. Tight enough to bruise him – the imprint of his fingertips leaving small purple indents that would last for days. Itachi hadn't spoken a word – just fulfilled his duty to fix his damaged little brother, not even reacting when Sasuke winced and twisted in his painful grip, trying to hide his arousal and biting his soft lips to muffle his voice.

Was there a chance that he had known?

In a way, Sasuke wouldn't' have been surprised if he did.

The thought that maybe Itachi had known all along – well, the thought brought him a surreal sense of relief.

The thought was dispelled with the sound of the stairs creaking softly outside his bedroom screen door.

How many years had it been, lying awake, waiting for this very moment?

Eyes shut tightly, hands clutching tight fists into his bed sheets, tugged up to his chin - he heard the gentle sliding sound of wood and paper as the shoji screen slid easily open. He could feel the floorboards shift under his futon as his brother stepped in, closing the screen behind him. It slid shut with a firmness that made Sasuke's heart jump up into his throat.

His fingers, white bone against his dark sheets, ached for release as he gripped tighter at the bed covers. He lay with his back to the screen, listening to the thudding of his own pulse which rung with an echoing fluidity like trapped water in his eardrums. His mouth was dry but he bit back the reflex to swallow – worried that the noise alone would give away his anticipation, would disrupt the surreal dream-like feeling that seemed to have descended on the room.

He felt the weight of a knee lower down on either side of his hips, trapping his lower body under his sheets. He concentrated on the reassuring weight of those legs, firm and solid, knees rubbing just slightly against the jutting bones of his hips. A hand reached out in the darkness and touched the side of his face, turning him away from his clenched fingers and making him look up – up into the glowing red eyes that hovered above him.

The light of the activated sharingan made Sasuke's skin crawl. The gentle light, no stronger than a candle flame, seemed to flicker slightly as the commas shifted around the dark irises, twisting slightly to tighten their spirals in concentration.

'Are you… going to make me forget? Like last time?'

Itachi remained silent for a moment, but the commas in his eyes slowed gently in their spirals.

'It's the only way we can do this. You know that.'

'Not yet.'

Sasuke's voice surprised himself in the quietness of the room. No more than a whisper, tight and hoarse against his dry throat as he struggled to look away.

Part of him knew that if, and when, his brother visited him, there would be consequences to their actions. If his brother was going to allow him the pleasure of giving in to his depraved desires, the use of the sharingan was of course the easiest and most reliable option.

'Please, not yet.'

Sasuke released the clenched sheets from his grip, feeling the tired ache in his knuckles as he reached up with damp hands to tentatively touch his brother's chest – to confirm that he was actually here. His fingers found cold metal. A hand was still holding his face, sliding fingertips down from his hairline, following his tight jaw down to his chin. The hand was gloved, the worn leather soft and supple, creasing gently at the elbow. Sasuke heard the faint chink of the armour plates fastened to his brother's forearms as he moved. This wasn't just any armour – Sasuke remembered the times he had watched his brother dress before a mission, pulling the breastplate on and over his head, fastening the straps tightly at his sides.

If he closed his eyes, he could have been back then. Back in a time before his world was turned roughly upside down by his brother's treachery.

Heat began to crawl up from the base of Sasuke's neck, forcing him to suppress a shiver as goosebumps threatened to itch their way across his bare arms. The sheets had slipped from his chest as his brother straddled him, crumpled at his waist, exposing his bare chest in the darkness. He bit his lip hard, watching as the red eyes narrowed slightly, the dark commas growing as if to soak in the sight before him.

He ran his fingers across the hard breast plate, tracing deep scratches in the metal that had been carved by small kunai, feeling the sharp diamond-shaped nicks that had been made by enemy arrow heads. His fingers slipped quickly through a cloying wetness. It came away on his fingers, almost sticky.

His eyes slid shut and he couldn't escape the shuddering breath that escaped his lips. The blood had splattered up across his brother's abdomen, perhaps spraying up from a split throat. In the gentle red light of his brother's eyes, the thick blood on his fingertips appeared as black as ink.

'I hadn't anticipated the complex to be guarded,' Itachi said, turning his head slightly to flick stray strands of his loose ponytail from his glowing eyes.

Sasuke's eyes shifted to the sliding door on the far side of the room, catching sight of the heavy katana leaning against the wall. The pressure of the legs on either side of him made him turn, making him look back up into those eyes.

'But then, I thought you might like this.'

He spoke gently, almost accusingly, stroking his gloved thumb against the corner of Sasuke's mouth. He watched the way the boy turned gently into the action, his back arching ever so slightly off the futon at the smallest amount of contact. Thin body desperate and keening. His black eyes shone wetly in the dark, and with his sharingan activated, Itachi let himself notice the tremors in the boy's exposed throat, white as bone; the fine beads of sweat clinging to the hair stuck to his neck; the thrum of his pulse that seemed to flicker behind his ribs, lying hidden beneath his taut pale skin.

He could feel Sasuke hanging on his every word, as if the sound of his voice alone was enough to tighten every muscle in his fragile body.

'Rumours are going around that my younger brother wants to kill me.'

He felt the boy shiver as he released him, reaching behind himself to loop a finger into the pocket on the back of his belt. The boy's dark eyes began to shine expectantly, watching the movement as his brother pulled two bloodied kunai from his pouch.

'Even over in the village of the hidden mist, people are talking about Sasuke Uchiha.'

His name sounded foreign on Itachi's tongue, and Sasuke found himself arching up into that sound, wanting to hear his name spill from those lips again and again.

'They don't know, do they? They don't know the truth.' Itachi said, placing the weapons on the boy's exposed chest.

The kunai were cold and deceptively heavy. Sasuke swallowed the groan that wanted to spill from his lips. One of the knives slipped slightly on his chest as his breath hitched, slipping in the blood that had coated the handle and bottom of the blade. It was still fresh – these knives had killed recently.

'They don't know what you're really thinking when you're alone, when you can't sleep at night.'

Itachi leaned forward as he spoke, so close now that stray strands of his long hair fell forward, brushing against Sasuke's forehead and lowered eyelashes. His gloved hands brought one of the kunai up from his chest – Sasuke's ribs ached for its weight as it was lifted – and traced the edge of his bottom lip.

'How part of you aches for this. How part of you longs to succumb to this.'

His voice was low and hushed as he drew the kunai along the swollen lip, pressing down enough to coax the boy to let his mouth fall open slightly.

'How long have you known?' Sasuke couldn't help himself but ask, his voice lowered and embarrassed by the question, feeling the dangerous point of the knife move with his lips. Itachi paused, as if considering the question as he leant back gently on his heels tucked beneath him.

'Long enough.'

Sasuke's eyes slid closed as he eagerly began sliding his tongue against the blade's edge. He didn't care how he looked, how his body seemed to ache for the painful pleasure only his brother's hands could bring him. Itachi watched as, perhaps deliberately, the boy cut his tongue shallowly on the blade. Thin blood began to swell from the boy's mouth and dribbled wetly down his chin, staining his white teeth.

He pulled the blade from the boy's mouth, watching as he flinched in surprise, unaware of how the blade had just caught at the bottom of his lip, splitting the flesh there in a soft cut that began to ooze.

'Careful now.'

He punctuated his words by moving the kunai to the soft underside of the boy's throat, pressing just below his trembling adams apple.

'Stand up.'

Sasuke shivered as he felt his brother move from atop him. The reassuring weight of his armoured body disappeared from either side of Sasuke's legs as he stood, taking the threat of the kunai with him. Sasuke struggled to take in a shivering breath, legs strangely weak underneath him as he pushed the sheets aside and stood to his feet. His underwear clung to him, sticky with sweat. Barely able to see his own fingers in front of his face, Sasuke couldn't help but feel exposed – even in the darkness. With the sharingan activated, he knew that his brother would be able to see everything, from the way the sweat dripped from the back of his neck, to the nervous tremble of the muscles in his thighs. Even to the tell-tale tightness of his abdomen.

'Stand against the wall,' came the command. Sasuke did so, stepping from his futon and moving to stand beside his small dresser, inching back until his heels hit the wall. He wondered how many others his brother had spoken those words to. How many he'd commanded to stand and accept their fate, their life in his hands. He wondered if they had fought back in their last moments, or, if like himself, they had gone willingly to their end. Sasuke's heart raced, and as his brother moved to stand before him, he closed his eyes in anticipation.

He stood there for what felt like hours, unable to look into those scarlet eyes that made him feel nauseous and weak at the knees. Unknowingly he sucked at his bottom lip, biting the soft fleshy cut that had begun to clot.

When his brother reached out and took a hold of his hands, he jumped in nervous surprise, flushing with embarrassment as his brother leaned forward and smirked against the skin of his neck. A trembling whimper escaped his lips, feeling his brother's mouth gently ghost against his throat.

He let the man guide his hands, stretching his arms out to either side of his body, pinning the back of his hands against the wall.

'Don't make a sound.'

His brother spoke against his neck, lips brushing against him to make the words shiver across his skin.

The first kunai slid easily through the sinewy flesh of his palm. The speed of the blow firmly pinned into the wall, just deep enough to secure his hand and hold it tightly in place. He released a shaky breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, wincing as the adrenalin began to surge through his veins, making his head spin and his fingertips tingle. His chest was rising and falling fast, and as he turned to look at his outstretched arm he caught sight of the metal weapon in the fiery glow of his brother's eyes. Blood dripped rhythmically onto the floorboards, thick heavy droplets that could have been mistaken for rain on the roof tiles outside.

'I sharpened them especially for you, you know.'

Sasuke sunk his teeth into his swollen bottom lip, feeling the slice in his flesh reopen and bleed weakly at the sudden rough treatment.

He felt his brother kiss his shoulder, gloved fingers caressing the round joint before he turned his attention to his other arm, outstretched, exposed, waiting. Sasuke found himself wondering how easily his brother's hand could dislocate that shoulder – caressing and squeezing until it popped free from its joint. The thought made his stomach jolt with a nausea that made his head spin.

Sasuke's adrenalin had already begun to wear off as the second kunai sunk effortlessly into his right hand. He cried out weakly, surprised to find his face wet with tears as he opened his eyes and blinked them away, slipping from his jaw to join the drops of blood staining the floor below. He let himself hang limply against the wall, feeling the sharp tug in his palms that restricted him from sinking completely to the floor.

'Don't let them hold your weight,' his brother warned, tapping a gloved finger knowingly at the boy's white wrist. 'These blades will split your pretty hands in two.'

Sasuke struggled to straighten his weak legs, gritting his teeth and forcing himself up to stand fully against his bindings, as per his instructions. He sucked in a trembling breath and exhaled slowly, letting the tears slip from his lashes and down his cheeks.

'That's better.'

The approval in his brother's voice thrummed through him like a drug. Arms outstretched and pinned to the wall on either side, Sasuke felt like something sacrificial – a partaker in some surreal, perverse sacrament. In the faint delirium of pain that threatened to overtake his head and send him spiralling into unconsciousness, his brother's eyes resembled warm candlelight; his futon an altar of twisted bedsheets and sweat.

His brother's hands were on him then, stroking down his sides wet with sweat, blood and tears, to hook into the waistband of his clinging underwear. Red eyes watched as he slipped them from the boy's thin hips, catching on his arousal and tugging free with a sharp intake of pain, pulled in through gritted teeth and bloody lips.

'You really want this,' he breathed in the darkness, reaching forward with one gloved hand to take the boy into his palm. It wasn't a question.

Sasuke bit back a groan, relishing in the ghosting touch of the soft leather as his brother barely touched him. He didn't want to open his eyes – to possibly dispel the dreamlike feeling of his brother's hand on him after all these years – but he forced himself to. He shook his head.

'Not with that,' he muttered, voice broken and hoarse, looking down at his brother's hand holding him, black with leather up to his elbow.

Itachi seemed to hesitate for a moment before releasing the boy from his grip, lifting his hand up to the boy's sore mouth and letting his forefinger touch gently at his bruised lips.

Sasuke opened wide and took the offered finger into his red mouth, biting at the tip of the gloved finger and allowing his brother to slip free from its grip. His flesh burned at the touch of his brother's warm hand, reaching down to hold him tight as his back arched against the wall, tugging at the skin of his palms and causing him to cry out again. The glove fell from his lips and landed softly at his feet.

The quick, dangerous flicker of his brother's eyes caused him to bite back a third cry, whimpering instead deep within his throat as his body began to thrum with pain and embarrassing arousal. He hated himself for enjoying it. For not only enjoying it – but for idolising his own flesh and blood for allowing him the pleasure of enjoying it. The terrifying weight of the situation hung heavy on every panted breath. The room felt hot, too hot, prickling with a heady mixture of excitement and arousal.

'Better?'

The question hung in the air accusingly. Sasuke found his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his brother's hand, his mouth open, breathlessly replying his affirmation.

'Yes, yes – oh God – '

Itachi pulled his hand up and thumbed deliberately across the slit, pulling the boy's voice from his body in a shuddering gasp. Sasuke's whole body tightened against the kunai digging into his splayed palms, his arousal relishing in the pain that flared up from his hands and travelled down to reside deep in the base of his spine.

He heard his brother sink down to his knees as if in prayer. He felt his hot mouth kiss his hipbones, first the left and then the right, as if in reverence. Those kisses soon turned sharp, his brother's teeth leaving small crescent moons in the flesh of his thighs – knowing full well that they would bruise and linger for days. Itachi wouldn't allow his brother to remember everything that happened tonight; it was too dangerous for them both. But he would allow some small tokens of the night to remind Sasuke of his obedient compliance. Sasuke hissed as his brother sucked gently at the bite marks, drawing blood to the surface in small purple dots that would darken and linger over time, inching his way closer to his arousal before nudging it against his wet lips.

'Oh God – ' Sasuke breathed again, fighting weakly against his bonds as he let his head hit back against the wall, the pain dizzying him slightly and making the reality of the situation fresh and bright in the darkness of the room.

'There are no Gods here,' he heard his brother say against him, sliding a hot tongue across his head and dipping hard into the slit.

Unable to move or reach for his brother's mouth, Sasuke found himself itching to tangle his fingers in his brother's long hair, tied neatly back and draped over one shoulder. He couldn't even arch forward into his brother's mouth – searing hot like the fire deep within his eyes, melting around him and taking him in deep. His knees wanted to buckle as he struggled to supress a moan – feeling that mouth constrict and tighten as he swallowed.

'Itachi.'

The name slipped from his lips on a shuddering exhale. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting back tears that just didn't seem to want to stop. His lip was bleeding again, swollen now as if he had been punched. He could feel the warm blood against his teeth, wondering what it would be like to have his brother punch him hard, or break a bone, or dislocate his wrist.

The depravity of the thoughts only made his breath quicken as he tried to move with his brother's mouth. A hand came up to push against his hipbone, hard enough to keep him still against the wall.

'Itachi.'

He couldn't help it. He knew that speaking his brother's name aloud seemed to break the surreal dream-like quality of the encounter – but the name fell easily from his tongue like the blood that fell from his mouth. As if that name was a part of him. He found himself repeating it over and over, not sure if he was even being heard – the mantra catching on his breath and hitching as his brother took him impossibly deep into his mouth, swallowing, pulling his orgasm so willingly from his tightened body, strung up against the wall.

When he came, hard - but with a quiet whimper that escaped his lips sounding almost like relief - he resisted his body's worrying urge to curl his fingers into fists. The knives rubbed sharply against his bleeding palms, as his body shuddered, drawing forth fresh blood as he struggled to keep his arching body still. He found himself watching through half-lidded eyes as he came, his brother easing him from his mouth just as the white rivulets hit his chin and dripped to fall at his throat and chest in weak arches. His orgasm throbbed through him, syncing in time with the throbbing hands, pinned up to the wall.

Itachi pushed himself up from his knees, wiping at his mouth and chin with his single gloved hand. White streaks came away on the black leather, forming a wet bridge between his thumb and forefinger.

Sasuke found himself leaning forward, ignoring the protest in his hands to wantonly suck at his brother's outstretched finger, taking in the slippery taste of himself on the worn leather.

He felt the gentle whisp of an exhaled breath near his ear, as Itachi allowed himself a brief moment to sink forward, resting his head on the wall beside his brother's, lips resting softly on the shell of the boy's ear, his black hair sticking to his neck with sweat.

'Sasuke.'

The sound of his own name made Sasuke jump. He opened his eyes, not realising how they had slid shut as the last pounding thumps of his orgasm dimmed in his body. Letting his brother's finger slip from his wet mouth, he looked up, momentarily catching sight of his own reflection in his brother's dark pupils. The red irises were brighter now, flickering, beginning to swirl around the three commas that danced around his pupils.

'No.'

His protest was weak, his voice nothing more than a resigned whimper.

'Not now, please – '

He tried to look away, but his eyes remained firmly fixed on his brothers. It was as if Itachi was holding his head in his hands, forcing him to look – to remain still.

'You knew this was coming.'

'Please.'

Itachi watched as his brother's panicked eyes slid heavily shut, his head lolling forward as his legs began to give way beneath him. He was unconscious within seconds.

Pulling the kunai from his palms easily from his palms, Itachi helped his brother slide to the floor before the knives tore through his hands. He tugged Sasuke's underwear up to his waist, using his loose glove discarded at their feet to wipe away the blood and saliva that had dripped onto Sasuke's chest. In the dim light, the droplets resembled a perverse string of rosary beads. In his pocket he pulled free some bandages, a surgical needle, and thread.

He secured his brother's hands, tightly winding the bandages across his bony knuckles and the wet sticky wounds. The blood was already beginning to clot as the boy's heart began to beat at a slower pace. He slipped the needle through the soft flesh of his bottom lip, wiped clear of blood, to form a simple stitch. His fingers lingered as he tied the knot in the black thread, carefully stroking the soft bottom lip with his fingertip. His eyes concentrated on the boy's breathing, shallow but slow, and easing gently as his body succumbed to the genjutsu.

* * *

Sasuke awoke to a dull throbbing in his hands. Birdsong was fresh and bright on the morning breeze, sunlight just beginning to creep around the edge of his curtain. Lying on his back on his futon, he stretched his arms up in front of him, examining the stained bandages that were wrapped tightly around his palms. Dried blood had seeped into the centre of each hand, blossoming like a rose as he had slept. He rolled a shoulder, forcing himself to sit up, feeling the strange tightness in the joint send a twinge down his upper arm to his elbow. His other arm felt the same.

Sasuke didn't question the bandages. He unravelled them as he headed to the bathroom, carefully looping them through his fingers and wincing as they tugged at the fresh scabs that had begun to form. Even his mouth hurt, and as he swept his tongue over the corner of his mouth, he felt the tell-tale smoothness of a fresh cut and a small piece of thread tied knotted tightly.

He slid from his underwear and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, turning the heavy dial to begin filling the square tub in the corner of the bathroom as he washed. He carefully rolled his neck under the spray, feeling his muscles ache and protest at the movement. Blood trickled from the wounds in his palms, spiralling down into the drain in weak red rivers.

They had been made by a sharp instrument, he realised as he examined the wound under the spray of water. A throwing star or kunai would create the same slicing puncture wound. The backs of his hands matched the wounds on his palms, although they seemed to have bled less. They itched, and reluctantly Sasuke shut off the shower.

His tub was nearly full and he eagerly stepped over to it, wanting nothing more than to soak his aching muscles in the steaming water, hot enough almost to scald.

As if he lifted one leg over the edge of the tub and stepped in carefully, he found himself pause.

Gently he touched a finger to the bruise on his thigh – so close to his groin that it was almost hidden from sight. He traced each indentation of the bite, picturing each perfect tooth sinking into the flesh.

Sasuke swallowed against the hard lump forming in his throat.

He eased into the hot water, no longer so eager to merely sit – wanting instead to scour every inch of his body for any further incriminating marks. Reluctantly he sat in the tub, letting the sweat prickle on his forehead and above his eyebrows as he hung his pale hands over the edge. Fresh droplets of blood dripped to the tiled floor and splashed gently.

When he finished his bath and headed back to his futon, wanting nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and sleep the day away, he noticed the dents in the plaster wall. The two marks were roughly two arm's lengths apart. Sasuke let out a shaky breath as he sank to the futon, his skin damp and cold against the plush fabric. His toes touched something cool and he jumped in surprise, reaching down beneath his covers and pulling forth a heavy kunai.

His thumb stroked over the kanji of his family's name engraved in the handle.

Sasuke fell asleep holding the knife, his own blood still drying on its blade.


End file.
